


Better Out Than In

by baku_midnight



Category: X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: The Animated Series
Genre: Crack, Humour, M/M, Public Sex, Smut, basically audacious and awful, making fun of Erik, possible voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-26
Updated: 2014-08-26
Packaged: 2018-02-14 23:15:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2206710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baku_midnight/pseuds/baku_midnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A villain with an aptitude for genetic experimentation has a plan for Charles and Erik. Combining the snark of the latest movie, the audacity of the 90’s cartoon, and a desire for pointless smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better Out Than In

Charles Xavier is frustrated. He spends every day with a set of hormonal, egotistical teenagers and every night with his books, which are no more good company than his beleaguered students.

 

His students are good kids, there’s no question, each unique and talented in their own ways. But the emotional issues they vent loudly inside their heads, to an empath of Charles’s not insignificant capacity, tend to have the gift for pushing him right back into his “disgruntled teen” phase – which is quite impressive, considering Charles is fairly sure he never went through that phase the first time around.

 

The result of carrying all that extra baggage – seriously, Charles thought _he_ had relationship problems before he met the likes of Jean Grey and Scott Summers – is that the young professor can only stand to be around his students for so many hours a day before he loses his patience and has to send them away to cloister himself in his study. The students are too new and caught-up in their own problems to sense any anomaly in their headmaster’s actions, only Hank really senses his discomfort, and given what he suggested last time Charles was feeling under the weather, he keeps out of it. Which leaves only _Logan_ to confide in. _The Wolverine,_ for God’s sake.

 

“Not enough _you-know-what_ ,” Logan says exaggeratedly every time Charles is in a bad mood, then proceeds to make a lewd gesture with his hands where he thrusts one finger of one hand into the circle of the other. Then he tends to move on to making a V with his fingers and wiggling his tongue between them. Charles just rolls his eyes, and then out of the man’s company, busying himself with _anything_ other than what Logan’s suggesting.

 

The truth is, the Wolverine, as heartless as he insists on appearing to the younger ones, is quite smart when it comes to matters of the heart. Living as long as he has he’s clearly run the whole emotional gamut, so he’s probably not wrong in his assessment of Charles’s current, persisting frustration. _Doctor Logan_ , Charles thinks sardonically, with a snort of laughter heard only by his books.

 

So when a distress call from an unknown mutant signature reaches him through the cloying tongs of Cerebro, Charles is far too excited for what is appropriate to the situation. He tries to keep his expression neutral and his hopes safely down around the vicinity of the floor, where they have been keeping the last few months, as he explains the situation to his young X-Men in the library now recently dubbed “The War Room” (the mansion has libraries to spare). It doesn’t take all that much effort to drum up the enthusiasm of his daring students, each desperately eager to prove themselves and get into the action, so within the hour they’re all ready and waiting at the Blackbird – Jean, Cyclops, Storm, Beast, Wolverine, and Prof. X.

 

The distress call leads them to an unexpected, unknown locale at the edge of the city. A large concrete building, maybe housing a lot of machinery or storage containers, looms over the docks. The X-Men cautiously enter the spacious, seemingly empty building, and immediately something seems off. Charles dismisses the discomfort in his gut as his usual level of discontentment, and wheels carefully around the corner into what appears to be the main room to find—

 

“Erik.” Charles says with a sprinkle of surprise. The man is chained up by his wrists to the wall, standing awkwardly stiff – but given it’s Erik that might just be his resting pose. He doesn’t look in distress, rather if anything, _bored._ His eyes brighten immediately when he sees Charles, breaking into a toothy grin.

 

“Charles,” Erik answers calmly, “you’re looking well. I’m glad to see you cut your hair.”

 

Charles frowns, resisting the urge to run a hand through his cropped, wavy – albeit thinning – hair and preen. Erik is just as infuriatingly charming pinned to a wall, held in place by _metal_ , of all things, as though his powers to break free are nonexistent. Charles frowns harder.

 

“So it’s a trap, then?” he asks levelly, rubbing at his temple.

 

“I’m afraid so, old friend,” Erik answers with a bit of a bourgeois sigh, as though he really doesn’t care for this new fashion in villainy.  “Whoever it is, he’s got something to nullify our powers.”

 

“What does he want?” Charles asks, eyes locking with Erik’s.

 

At that moment the rest of the X-Men come bursting into the fray and Charles realizes how good that few seconds of civilized conversation with Erik felt. Having his mind shut-off to any intrusions, as it must’ve been if he’s being effected the same way Erik is, helped, too.

 

“Professor!” Jean squeals, flying into the room in a panic, followed quickly by the rest, who are darting about like chickens without heads – or without powers, at least. “My powers—!”

 

“It’s alright, dear,” Charles says with his best placating smile, raising a hand towards his charges. It’s when they’re conveniently all in one place that their captor chooses to arrive, dashing in, large – make that _massive_ – cape flowing all about him.

 

The man standing before them is no less than 7 feet tall, decked entirely in black leather, sporting a massive, floor-length cape and high-heeled boots. He’s got the most wicked, villainous grin on his face when he turns to the down-trodden X-Men, raising a hand towards them.

 

“Don’t be thinking of running, now,” he announces, and with a flourish of his arm the doors shut behind them and a fixture of weaponry lowers from every corner of the room, guns and turrets and unidentifiable boom-sticks pointing at the X-Men from every direction. The young soldiers freeze instantly, backing up until their backs are safely against the wall – as though that will help with _that much_ artillery aimed at them. Charles applauds their tactics anyway, while his heart is beating its way up into his throat.

 

“You got a death wish, pal?!” Logan shouts and makes to lunge forward, halting only when he sees the way Jean winces and ducks her head. The barrels of no less than eight guns turn on him. “You think I’m scared of your little pea-shooters? I’ve never met a gun that could end me.”

 

The extravagantly-costumed man shakes his head, raising a gloved warning hand towards Wolverine. “How about _without_ any healing powers?” the man asks calmly, and Logan pauses.

 

“It’s alright, Logan, just stay calm,” Charles assures him, and given the man’s snarl in response he expects he’s about to receive a very rude retort indeed. But Logan just sheaths his claws and backs carefully against Jean, Scott and Storm, holding the three youths behind him.

 

“Alright, now, you’ve got a captive audience, tell us exactly what it is you want,” Charles snaps at the villain, who turns to face him. The scene is very deliberate – Charles and Erik on one side, cut off from the rest of the X-Men by the man standing in the middle.

 

“I am Mister Sinister,” the man says emphatically, a flash of a grin showing a set of razorblade teeth. “Ruler of The Savage Lands, liberator of the Morlocks, and saviour of all mutant kind!”

 

“Fascinating. You have a name,” Erik snaps back immediately, clearly jealous that he isn’t the most theatrical person in the room. But Charles knows better than most to underestimate a well-equipped terrorist, even one with so gauche a name and garish a costume who is currently speaking nonsense in your general direction.

 

Charles’s eyes flicker over to his neutered team, then to Erik who is glaring defiantly at his captor as though he’s just daring the man to loosen his bonds that he might bite and scratch him to death in lieu of crushing him under a metric tonne of metal like in a Hanna-Barbara cartoon. Charles stays still, electing to stay civil until at least he learns Sinister’s plans. Looking around the room – old-fashioned, medical lab equipment meshed with heavy machinery, computer monitors, television screens, slanted exam tables like in Frankenstein’s lab – it’s pretty difficult to synthesize an idea of what the man is up to, except to know that it involves general wrongdoing.

 

“Hello, yes,” Charles clears his throat, “Mister Sinister, was it?” he asks cautiously, gesturing with one hand in the direction of his team and towards Erik with the other, “we would all very much like to know what we’re doing here, so would you…tell us, please? So that we can get things underway?”

 

Logan throws his head against his open palm with enough force to break the neck of a lesser man. Although he can’t see it, Charles can fell Erik rolling his eyes at him. As though _they_ were coming up with better courses of action than to stand there and complain. Charles ignores them both, the ungrateful bastards.

 

“I’m glad you ask, because my plan – is _you!_ ”

 

Charles tilts his head and peers at Sinister from beneath his peaked eyebrows, the expression he’s found is most intimidating. It’s his “teacher face”, according to Hank. “Yes…?”

 

“Just think – Charles Xavier,” Sinister begins to broadcast, slashing a hand through the air at the seated professor, who makes a displeased face back at him. “The most powerful mind in the world, capable of communicating with people thousands of miles away, Mutant and human alike…

 

“…and Magneto, world-renowned terrorist-at-large, unchallenged by the police, CIA and Interpol and any combinations thereof. The face of Mutant rebellion everywhere, implicated in the attempted assassination of not one, but _two_ US Presidents!” he announces at large, ignoring the muttered “the first one was an _accident.”_

“Imagine the power that could come from a meeting of such superior powers—”

 

“Tried that, didn’t work,” Charles calls in response and Erik rolls his eyes. Soon, the two of them are rolling their eyes back and forth like it’s some sort of Morse code, disengaging from Sinister’s speech and tuning back in to hear,

 

“—the _progeny_ of such a union would be powerful beyond measure!”

 

All eyes move sceptically in the man’s direction. The students look utterly scandalized, Erik smirks as if he’s actually considering the prospect.

 

Charles just sighs, rubbing at his temples with such force he might be scraping bone. “I’m afraid that’s not how biology works, friend.”

 

“I appreciate your ambition, truly,” Magneto interrupts, flicking his constrained wrist about the room, gesturing to each metal contraption and strange device, obviously thoroughly arranged, “but I’m afraid Charles isn’t up to the task.”

 

“I would be happy to bear your children, if I weren’t so sure they would be as insufferably arrogant as you!” Charles snaps back, instantly.

 

“Oh _Christ,_ ” Logan groans from across the room, “they’re _flirting_.”

 

Three sets of bewildered eyes land on him and he explains gruffly, “The Professor and Ol’ Mags – they used to be sweethearts.”

 

The explanation, blunt as it is appears to get the message across, and the three students look at each other in horror.

 

“Yes, I’ll pass, thank you,” Charles enunciates, pointedly ignoring the eyes Erik is making at him. Like he’s actually considering acquiescing to this madman’s request. He’s as infuriatingly handsome as always, too bad the closest thing to sex Charles with Erik he has on his mind is mentally kicking him in the shins for a few hours straight.

 

“Come now, Charles,” Erik says with a swagger to his voice, “don’t tell me you’ve never thought of it.”

 

Charles frowns. Once, maybe. Years ago. Before there were a hundred miles of impossible road between them, scalding pavement filled with potholes, caltrops and burning tar. Back when there was love and passion and most of all, respect. Yes, back then Charles would’ve gladly considered starting a family with Erik. _Did_ start a family with Erik. That’s what the school was, really. At the time, creating a space for young Mutants to grow to live with their powers was secondary to spending time with Erik, and everyone knew it. Perhaps that’s why the school failed so utterly the first time.

 

“Using your DNA I will be able to create an infinite army of powerful Mutants. I need only a sample of your reproductive material and my plan will be complete!” Sinister explains.

 

“Ugh, you’re making me _gag!_ ” Logan groans, interrupting the tirade.

 

Erik shrugs. “The mind is willing, but the body…well.” He gestures at his constraints.

 

Sinister grins. “Even now?”

 

In a display of impressive power – or an impressively-coordinated remote-control – Sinister flicks his wrist and Erik’s shackles fall away and he pulls away from the wall. Erik wrings his wrists carefully, willing away any numbness when he suddenly goes still, staring off distractedly into a distance some metres away. Charles looks down when he feels a tingle in his lap, his legs shivering back to life.

 

“Well, that can’t be good for my physiology,” Charles groans, starting to stretch out his feet. Going back and forth between being crippled and able-bodied whenever it’s convenient for the Monster of the Week, that is, cannot be good for him. And it seems everyone and their mother has a way to nullify Mutant powers these days.

 

Charles tries to get up but his muscles clearly need more practice. He turns his attention back to Erik, raising an eyebrow to see the man slowly approaching him with a single-minded attention that says there’s only one thing on his mind. When his gaze meets Charles’s he’s practically on fire. His eyes melt through Charles’s flimsy button-down, lust raging in his eyes.

 

“Erik, really?” Charles says warningly, trying to get to his feet. Erik is enflamed, enraptured. Lust is pooling out of his pores thanks to Sinister’s psychotic sex-beam. Although Charles suspects that’s a flimsy excuse.

“Here? Now?” Charles mumbles, getting to his feet and stumbling the two steps it takes to reach Erik, who scoops him into his arms and holds him to his chest like the protagonist in a demented romance novel.

 

“Here. Now,” he echoes, voice rich and dark, warm and heady like coffee. _No,_ chocolate.

 

 _No, way,_ Charles’s conscience supplies and he shakes his head to dislodge any image of Erik covered in chocolate therein to be found.

 

“There are _children_ present,” Charles argues, ducking out of the reach of Erik’s lips. Erik settles for pushing his nose into Charles’s hair instead.

 

“Hardly,” he argues back, and Charles fails to suppress the shudder than runs up his spine when Erik’s voice trots up his neck, making the hair stand on end.

 

“I confess with the whole kidnapping thing I’m not in the _mm_ —” Charles’s complaint is stifled by Erik’s lips sealing over his, wet and warm and so very _present_ Charles has to concede. _Just one kiss_ , he tells himself as he melts into it, slumping lazily against Erik’s chest.

 

“Come on, Charles,” he mutters, low and sultry, the taste of him filling up Charles’s senses, “give them something to _really_ yap about.”

 

Charles is practically ensnared already, looking up at Erik with unashamed awe. Some things never fade, even after years of bad weather batter away at them.

 

“At least _try_ to resist him, Professor!” Logan calls out, seeing the dreamy look in Charles’s eyes.

 

“I’m sorry, Logan,” Charles calls in reply, leaning up to meet Erik’s mouth again. “I’m afraid I— _mmph_ —appear to be— _mm_ —drawn to him by some— _mmph! Mm_ compelling force!” he explains between kisses, “you might even call it _magnetic_!”

 

Logan gives a sound of frustration that is suspiciously like a growl and drops to sit cross-legged on the floor, giving up the most defeated expression he can muster. When Scott, Jean and Ororo look at him cautiously he simply shrugs, thick arms crossing his broad chest, “well, we’re fucked.”

 

Charles ignores the colourful sentiment and nagging – albeit quiet – voice in his mind telling him to behave like a proper adult and keep his sexual activity confined to a dark, quiet bedroom rather than an evil villain’s lair-slash-sex-dungeon. Erik not-so gently pushes against Charles’s chest with his forehead, encouraging him to bend backwards so he can nuzzle into the open collar of his shirt, teasing a button open with one hand while holding Charles up with the other. He draws a line across Charles’s collarbone with his tongue that ends in the dip of his throat and has him moaning deliciously.

 

A gasp comes from across the room and Charles growls and snaps his head in their direction, pulling Erik’s head to his bosom.

 

“Oh, get over yourselves!” Charles barks at his charges, “you didn’t invent it, you know!”

 

Erik laughs, though the sound is muffled where Charles has effectively smushed his face into his chest. “Why, Charles, I never expected you to lose your temper,” he mutters, shifting his grip on the man, grabbing Charles and hoisting him up to wrap around his waist. They settle into a long, deep kiss that lasts the whole way across the floor to the nearest upright surface, a slanted examination table.

 

Charles glances at the macabre restraints – iron cuffs at both wrist- and ankle-level – and feels a tingle run up his spine as he briefly entertains the thought of what Erik might be able to do with all of that metal medical equipment, if he were so inclined – Charles himself reclined on the surface, ankles fitted in the stirrups and at the mercy of Dr. Erik…he shakes his head and files those thoughts away for later.

 

“Enough foolishness,” Charles says, reaching for his belt buckle with one hand and holding himself up with the other arm wrapped around Erik’s neck, his back against the near-vertical table.

 

Erik watches Charles pull out of his trousers and kick them aside, wrapped around one ankle until he looks quite the picture of dignity. To Erik, however, he’s never looked more appealing – half-naked, blushing, and with a serious look on his face that says he means business. Charles’s shirt mostly off – plastic buttons were never Erik’s preference – Erik dives in again, licking down Charles’s chest and finding one pink nipple, latching over it and sucking deeply while his hands claw up Charles’s back.

 

Charles moans and heaves in a breath, climbing up Erik’s body like a tree, wrapping a thigh firmly around Erik’s lean waist and latching on like a permanent fixture. He shoves a hand inelegantly down Erik’s pants, letting out a whine of distress when his progress is halted by a belt.

 

Across the room the X-Men are all seated on the floor, facing pointedly away and shielding their eyes with their hands. Jean, admittedly, keeps peeking through her fingers with morbid fascination before hiding again with a blush on her cheeks.

 

“Nothing worse than what you saw when you walked in on your brother, Scott,” Charles calls, panting, earning a deep flush from Scott as he tries to jerk down Erik’s pants with one hand. “Or were you keeping that a secret?”

 

Erik’s trousers clatter to the floor while he’s laughing over how _fed-up_ with his students Charles is. And his dream was to take in as many students as the mansion could hold? He can barely handle a _four!_ Although, if the way he’s impatiently digging out Erik’s cock is an indication of his stress level with only a handful of students, Erik would can only anticipate with eagerness how he might act when he’s got a whole school full of precocious Mutants to deal with…

 

Charles finds Erik’s cock and draws it against his body, painting his stomach with the tip and only then he realizes how ridiculous the situation is – making love in obscure locales and under dubious circumstances is not new to him and Erik, but in front of so many eyes? It’s pushing even _his_ sense of adventure.

 

“Are you sure about this, Charles?” Erik asks softly, shifting so his erection ventures closer and closer to joinder of his partner’s thighs, his face struggling not to blush as Charles strokes him absent-mindedly.

 

Obscene as it is, looking into Erik’s eyes for the first time in so many months, Charles realizes he doesn’t even care. Damn the world, if even for a moment.

 

“I can always wipe their memories afterwards,” Charles jokes, and wraps a hand firmly around the base of Erik’s cock.

 

“Lube?” Charles whispers, kissing gently at Erik’s neck, nosing at the heated shell of his ear. “Actually, hand cream, in my pocket—”

 

Erik fumbles to reach across Charles’s body, face flushing while Charles fists him and smothers kisses into his neck and throat. He’s absolutely charming like this, focused and dedicated, attention solidly on Erik, from the hand twisting in the hair at the back of his neck, the mouth centred squarely over his pulse-point, to the fingers stroking roughly up and down his shaft. Erik shudders, drawing unconsciously closer with each stutter of his hips, so deliciously hard like he hasn’t been in months.

 

“Easy, now,” Erik mutters, reaching down to pluck Charles’s hand from his cock. “At that rate we’ll never get to the main event.” He lowers one of Charles’s legs to the floor and lifts the other up over his shoulder, awed at his lover’s flexibility. He plants a kiss on the inside of Charles’s thigh and reaches down to circle a finger around Charles’s hole, smearing the cream all across the puckered flesh.

 

He plunges a finger in and is rewarded with a gasp of surprise, pressing his finger deeper into the unforgiving pressure of Charles’s body, feeling the muscles clench around him, trying to draw him in. He watches eagerly his finger sliding in and out of Charles’s body, the way the muscles clench readily as he slides in and loosen as he slips out, eager and so ready for his cock already it’s driving him mad.

 

Erik looks up and Charles is staring right at him, eyes heated and wanting as he keeps them trained directly on Erik’s. Every minute contraction of his blown pupils expresses something new, some new and distinct emotion that is special and private and so utterly Charles. His gaze floods Erik with _I missed you_ and _I need you_ and _there is no place in the world I would rather be than right here._

 

Erik keeps his gaze and slides in a second finger, twisting and turning it about, opening Charles up. The hitched grunts and gasps he gets in response as he presses in a third are absolutely sinful, rich and heady sounds filling his head as his eyes drink in Charles, face flushing and bare chest undulating with each shaky breath.

 

“You’re taking me beautifully,” Erik whispers in reverence, he too forgetting about the other occupants of the room. Any day he would be glad to have Charles in front of everyone, take him hard and fast over a table and show everyone how Charles Xavier is the most beautiful, brilliant, wicked, vivacious man in the world and his heart belongs to Erik, yes, Erik alone gets this claim, this intimacy. His mind reels with images of Charles on his stomach over the table, toes scraping at the floor as he pleads for leverage, fucked silly over a desk, utterly naked and on display and loving it. But that’s a game for later, he decides, filing the images away.

 

Erik pulls out his fingers and strokes his cock with the remaining cream, a flood of precome releasing from the slit as he slicks the shiny naked head. He doesn’t take his eyes from Charles as he centers his cock between Charles’s legs and slides forward, just across his opening.

 

Charles looks down between his legs to watch the massive thing go inside him, taking a few deep breaths as Erik hooks a thumb into his hole and slips the head inside. Just the head pushes past the rim and Charles groans, tilting back his head, throat glistening with sweat as he swallows.

 

“Easy, now, darling,” Charles says with a shaky voice, “it’s been a while and you’re… _mmh_ …” the words dissolve into a long crescendo of a moan as Erik slides in the rest of the way, pressure building and filling him up, thick shaft pulling him wide open.

 

Erik stills and Charles pants, trying to let his body adjust to the intrusion, muscles clenching weakly around the huge shaft. He looks down to see Erik inside him, shifting his hips a little to adjust to the fit.

 

“Oh god, you’re so…” Charles whispers breathlessly, “there’s no one…no one like you, you’re so amazing…” he moans as Erik pushes forward in a bit of a testing thrust, leaving Charles gasping and rolling his hips against Erik’s cock.

 

Erik slides in once and almost the whole way out, practiced and slow; he wants to make this last. Absurdly, it feels like they have hours to spend together, even if it only turns out to be a few minutes. He slides back in and Charles takes him to the hilt, his entire body rising an inch with the depth of the thrust.

 

“That’s it, darling, nice and slow,” Charles encourages, but that’s all the exposition he can handle before Erik starts thrusting steadily, pumping in and out like a machine. All that comes out of Charles’s mouth after that is a series of panting moans, hands trembling on Erik’s shoulders.

 

“Erik…Erik…” he breathes, wild with passion, clinging to Erik’s shoulders and pushing himself down with his abdominal muscles to meet Erik’s upward thrusts, take him deeper. He moans and flings back his head when Erik’s cock hits him particularly deep, letting out a long whine as the thrusts speed up. Erik is panting as well, hands wrapped around Charles’s flanks holding him steady, his arms growing stiff with the exertion, pushing his body forward, unable to stop.

 

Charles lets out a shuddering groan, dropping his chin to his chest to look down at Erik pumping inside him. In the precarious position they’re in, neither can reach Charles’s cock but he finds he doesn’t even need it, just the sensation of being this close to Erik again, wrapped in his arms, his hands, his breath, his hips, is making him more aroused than he’s been in years. His entire body feels like an erogenous zone, from the backs of his ears to the tips of his toes that are still rather numb, making him wild and alight with pleasure.

 

He feels Erik start to speed up, his thrusts become erratic and he knows Erik is close, tilting his head back and panting hard, his neck a long white column wet with sweat that Charles wants to lick dry. He buries his head in Erik’s chest as he feels his orgasm climbing, up and up, breathing faster and faster until he comes, stars exploding behind his eyes as Erik continues to pound him through it. Erik lets out a shudder and comes as well, come splattering messily inside Charles and against his hole as he pulls out, wetting the inside of his thighs.

 

Charles lowers his legs around Erik’s back, sliding them down his knees as Erik slowly lowers them to the ground. They’re panting, drawing in deep gasping breaths, slowly coming down together. Charles feels warm all over, like a small fire has been lit inside him, he feels safe and comfortable for the first time in a long, long time.

 

“My friend,” Charles mumbles, yawning lazily as sleep threatens to overtake him, “I dare say we needed that.”

 

“Mm,” comes Erik’s murmur of agreement, still entangled in Charles, supporting him against the table, still in between his legs.

 

Charles reaches a hand tentatively down between his legs, dipping his fingers into the pool of spend between them, thinking idly about the future, but mostly settling on being happy and peaceful now in the present.

 

“Did you mean it, Charles?” Erik asks softly, focusing on Charles’s belly, his hips, sliding a hand up to his chest and gently across his pecs.

 

“Mean what?” Charles whispers back, eyes following Erik’s hand.

 

“That you would be willing to have my children?” Erik asks and Charles is almost surprised by the sincerity in his voice.

 

“Were such a thing possible, of course, darling,” Charles mumbles sleepily, and Erik is quite unsure he can trust him to be truthful immediately after being so thoroughly pleasured. Charles did always tend a little on the more passionate, less pragmatic side right after sex. “Who wouldn’t want a litter of little Eriks running about the mansion, wreaking havoc?”

 

Erik raises an eyebrow, unsure whether Charles is being sarcastic or not. It doesn’t matter as there is a sudden crash across the room, and Charles winces, squeezing his eyes shut against the sudden blaring intrusion in his head that accompanies the return of his powers. Erik feels his powers returning as well, the sensation quite like being charged up like a battery; Charles cracks an eye open and chuckles at the way that a few metal instruments automatically starting rolling across the floor in his direction, sticking to his boots and backside.

 

Erik shakes them off and goes to redress himself, looking over his shoulder to see Wolverine standing triumphantly over a small console which has more than a few gashes in it. His back is struck with at least two or three rapidly-healing bullet-wounds, but he has enough energy to raise his middle claw in Magneto’s direction before collapsing to the floor.

 

Their powers now restored the younger X-Men make quick work of their restraints, Jean twisting the guns trained on them around so they faced the wall, Scott blasting their controls with his eyes. Ororo floats cautiously into the air and shoots a gust of wind in Sinister’s direction, causing him to stumble with his footing and clutch at his cumbersome cape.

 

“You blasted fools!” Sinister cries as Storm pushes him over onto his back, with nothing to grab or physically assault his strength was basically useless. “My plan is ruined!”

 

Charles smiles over at his students in adoration as Erik helps him pull his clothes back on, guiding his weakened ankles through his pant legs. He wipes the two of them down with the edge of Charles’s shirt, carefully wiping away any leftover come.

 

“What if he does get a hold of our DNA? Do you think anything will come of it?” Erik asks, and Charles smiled.

 

“I’m afraid he won’t know what to do with it,” Charles mumbles, tapping his temple meaningfully. Caught off guard, Sinister is easy to influence telepathically to decide he was going to abandon his genetic experiments for now and go on a long vacation to Romania instead.


End file.
